


From the Outside Looking In (You Just Can't Comprehend)

by guera



Category: NCIS, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, Gen, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Pack Feels, Post Season 2, Sterek if you squint, lots of pack feels, outsider's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guera/pseuds/guera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seriously, the number of times he’s been caught in the vicinity of a dead body by cops you’d think he’d be good at lying his way out of trouble. </p><p>The thing is? He has gotten better. Well, it helped that 90% of the lie had been truth. Yes, officer I just stumbled upon this highly mangled dead body, look at me freaking out. He just didn’t mention how he knew said highly mangled dead body or that he and his band of merry wolves plus attachments were looking for said highly mangled dead body. Only not so much dead or mangled. That wasn’t part of the plan. </p><p>And just because he wasn’t a sneaky wolf like Isaac who could just melt into the freaking shadows like a cliché, he gets a flashlight to the face and handcuffed. </p><p>Sometimes his life just <i>sucks.</i></p><p>XXX</p><p>Or the time Tony gets kidnapped by this really weird cult and he should really learn to listen to Gibbs gut, because he's pretty sure tall, dark and intense over there is going to just end up killing him rather than figure out what to do with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Stiles really wanted to bang his head against the depressing little metal table he’s honestly surprised he’s not handcuffed to, but that probably wouldn’t help his chances of getting out of this interrogation anytime soon. Probably wouldn’t hurt…Seriously, the number of times he’s been caught in the vicinity of a dead body by cops you’d think he’d be good at lying his way out of trouble.

The thing is? He _has_ gotten better. Well, it helped that 90% of the lie had been truth. Yes, officer I just stumbled upon this highly mangled dead body, look at me freaking out. He just didn’t mention how he knew said highly mangled dead body or that he and his band of merry wolves plus attachments were looking for said highly mangled dead body. Only not so much dead or mangled. That wasn’t part of the plan.

And just because he wasn’t a sneaky wolf like Isaac who could just melt into the freaking shadows like a cliché, he gets a flashlight to the face and handcuffed.

Sometimes his life just _sucks_.

“Explain it to me again what you were doing in an abandoned warehouse at three in the morning.”

Stiles just blinks at the man in exasperation. “I’ve told you, it was a dare…go into the creepy warehouse and snap a picture as proof. Trust me, if I’d known just what I was getting myself into, I would have gladly told them to fuck off.”

“And yet, you won’t give me the names of these so-called friends of yours.”

Stiles glares at that, because they’ve talked this circle at least three times now, but the guy won’t even twitch.  Just his luck he couldn’t just get nabbed by some soft bellied local cop, instead he’s sitting across from a freaking _Navy_ cop. Dude’s got Agent in his title and belongs to an alphabet agency and Stiles really has no clue what he’s done to deserve this or just who he pissed off for his luck to be just this shitty.

“Tell me about Alexandra Johnson.”

Stiles’ whole train of thought derailed, because who the hell is Alexandra Johnson? “Who the hell is Alexandra Johnson?” They’d been at this for two hours and this is the first he’s hearing the name. Although, now that he’s thinking about it, it sounds like it should be familiar. Like if his brain would just reach a little bit further in the right direction the lights would go off and the bells would ring.

 Which is why he’s frustrated when the agent gets pissed. He’s not obvious about it, but Stiles has been around the werewolves long enough to spot the subtle body language shift and really he shouldn’t be worried because they have nothing on him but trespassing, but he feels the anxiety winding through his chest because this is something he doesn’t know, some part of the puzzle he didn’t know he was supposed to be looking for, and he has no clue who the hell Alexandra Johnson is, even though he’s doubting his own conviction of that now, and he really doesn’t like being blindsided.

Which is why he’s equal parts annoyed and elated when the agent leans back in his chair with an annoyed look and says, “You’re really just some stupid kid who wandered where you shouldn’t have, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m twenty!” Stiles tries to swallow the indignation when the glare comes back in full force, but the agent just gestures at whoever’s watching behind the big two way mirror. And seriously, does that fool anybody anymore?

He’s distracted from that train of thought when the door opens and the really attractive agent sticks her head in.

“Agent David, please escort Mr. Stilinski to the gate and makes sure he gets a ride home.”

“That means I’m free to go?”

He gets another glare, good thing he’s practically immune to them, and gets shooed away like an annoying insect. He lets the insult go though, because _, freedom_. And he didn’t even have to make a really uncomfortable call to his Dad about getting picked up by the cops. Again.

His life, man. _His life_.

He’s almost out the door, thinking a few impure thoughts about his escort, when the agent adds, “I suggest you don’t skip town, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles shrugged. “I have no immediate plans to.” Which is true, he has no clue when things going to be over, especially now that there are more complications to deal with. He was hoping to spend a little of summer vacation actually _vacationing._

But _noooo_. Four years ago he just had to drag Scott out to look for a dead body and it all snowballed from there to Stiles spending his summer break mixed in the middle of a freaking werewolf Hatfield’s and McCoy scenario and Stiles really, really wished Peter Freaking Hale had _just stayed dead_ like he was supposed to.

Was that really too much to ask?

XXX

Tony DiNozzo has been around his boss long enough to know when a case was frustrating him and this is so past frustrating that he’s getting a sympathetic tension headache just looking at him. And really, three bodies, two of which were sailors, and all mangled and slashed with freaking organs missing? Yeah, he’s feeling the frustration as well.

“Boss?”

“Follow him. The kid’s not telling us something.”

“You really think he’s involved?” Tony swallows at the glare leveled his way. “Got it Boss. Follow the kid. Got it.”

Which is how he finds himself sitting in a nondescript car watching as Stilinski climbs into the passenger seat of an older model Jeep that’s seen better days. He doesn’t get a good look at the driver, just that he looks about the same age as Stilinski with brown, curly hair. There seems to be a bit of an argument when Stilinski gets in the Jeep, Tony guesses this is one of the friends that dared Stilinski into that warehouse last night and is now getting an earful, but then they pull out onto the road and Tony follows.

They meander a bit before finally pulling into the parking lot of a Denny’s. Tony turned in behind them, purposefully going left when the Jeep turns right, and finding a parking spot with an unobstructed view into the restaurant.

Tony watches as the two boys climb out of the Jeep, and walk into the restaurant. It was still early in the day, but the restaurant was already pretty full with the breakfast rush of a Saturday morning and so Tony lucks out when the two boys are sat at a table just a few windows down from where he’s parked.

They’re just normal kids, is what he concludes twenty minutes later as they bicker over a plate of fries, Stilinski’s pancakes and the other’s burger long gone (and really, a burger for breakfast? But that doesn’t exactly scream serial killer so…). He wants to be doing something useful, but he knows if he heads back now he’d just get glared at, possibly head slapped and just sent back so he wills them to just leave so he can follow them to whatever hole in the wall motel they’re staying at (Stilinski had a California Driver’s License, claimed to be in town on vacation) so Tony can be done with this.

They’re done with the fries and now seem to be in some kind of bizarre tug of war with a cell phone, though it seems hot potato might be more accurate because the friend looks relieved when Stilinski gives up and puts the thing to his ear.

Still not odd. Well not odd enough to think they’re mutilating corpses in their spare time.

Tony is so bored he’s got Candy Crush pulled up on his phone. A flash of shiny black catches his eye and he looks up from his game to see a Camaro pull in to the parking lot and park next to the Jeep. It’s a nice car and the guy that steps out of it is not too bad himself.

He’s about to go back to his game when he realizes Stilinski and Friend have left the restaurant and are making their way across the parking lot. Turns out Stilinski knows Camaro Guy and isn’t exactly the most pleased to see him.

The whole thing is a bit amusing, really. Stilinski’s failing arms and full body gestures against Camaro Guy’s raised eyebrow and crossed arms. The friend seems happy enough to stay out of it, looking back and forth between the two, working a toothpick between his teeth.

But it’s obviously not a hill Stilinski’s ready to die on and thirty seconds later he’s throwing his arms up in defeat and climbing into the passenger seat of the Camaro. Tony takes the plate number down on autopilot as Camaro Guy and Friend exchange a few words and then part ways.

He gives the Camaro a minute head start, confident that he can follow such a striking car, before pulling out of the parking lot himself.

He catches sight of it turning right a few blocks down and settles in for another boring slow speed chase.

He loses the Camaro in less than fifteen minutes. He has a feeling he’s going to be hearing about this one for a while.

XXX

Stiles burrows into the Camaro’s seat, a feeling of safety settling over him. Which is just weird, because he’s pretty sure he’s almost bled out at least three times in this very seat and there was that whole poisoning thing that turned his insides to hot coals and then that slight case of hypothermia.

Yeah, this car should really be a hotbed of bad memories but for some reason it’s just not. He tries not to think too hard about what that means about him.

“This was a stupid plan.” He’s still irritated at Derek though. “Because really? Now the scary _military_ cops are still following us and now they have your plate number, which means they know who you are and can connect you to me and probably do some freaky NSA level spying and get the whole freaking pack and God, how is this our life that not only do I have to worry about the fact that Creepy Uncle Peter is trying to start Werewolf War Three, I also have to worry that the US government is going to end up shipping me off to Gitmo.”

“I know someone in Cuba, I’d get you out.”

“Not helpful.” Stiles bangs his head against the headrest a few times to try and wake his brain back up, and he remembers, “Hey, who’s Alexandra Johnson?”

He’s getting that look, the look that says Derek is trying remember why he thinks Stiles actually has a brain in his head because he obviously doesn’t use it. Stiles resents that look, especially since the brain in his head has saved Derek’s ass on more occasions than he can count. “What?”

“Alexandra Lillian Johnson nee McKenzie.”

And it hits Stiles like a brick to the face. “Oh yeah. See this is why I require more than three hours of sleep at time, because I should not have forgotten Jacob McKenzie’s little sister’s full name, although I’m pretty sure it’s the reason I’m not still stuck in that little room, because he totally bought I didn’t have a fucking clue who he was talking about or that there were other mangled bodies out there. And she changed her name when she got married? Bet big brother was just _thrilled_ at that…” Derek makes a sort of huffing noise Stiles takes as agreement. “I don’t like him, man, he makes my skin crawl.”

Derek’s face does this weird thing like he’s trying not to agree with Stiles but does anyways. “He’s been incredible patient letting us deal with Peter without declaring full on war.”

“Yeah, and how long is that going to last now that the representative we were going to meet last night is now cooling on a coroner’s slab?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ya'll, another chapter! Fair warning, been fighting an infected lip and as such have been on painkillers so if this was a bit rougher than the last chapter, that's probably why, but I've proofread till I can't proofread anymore so yeah...
> 
> (there's actually plot in this too...wonders never cease)
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who Kudos'd, commented, bookmarked, followed, etc. YOU ROCK!

Chapter 2

Some days, Tony thinks he really should’ve chosen a less stressful career path, like lion taming or something. He’s currently pressed against the outside, dirty wall of yet another abandoned warehouse, straining his ears to catch any more sounds of gunshots or screaming coming from inside.

It had been a pretty far-fetched lead he and Ziva had been checking out when they heard the first gunshot and realized either their lead was a hell of a lot better than they thought or they were lucky enough to stumble into something else. They’d called it in and split up, hoping to find the victims still alive.

He isn’t having any luck finding a viable way in. Everything was boarded up tight, the few lights throwing most of the darkening little alley between the two buildings into shadows.

He tenses at the sound of running footsteps and then pushes off the wall and brings his gun up in one motion. “NCIS! Drop the weapon!”

The figure stops, helpfully in one of the pools of light, and gapes at him. Tony gapes right back because, seriously?

“Stilinski?”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me! Am I cursed or something?”

“Drop the gun.” Because Stilinski’s holding a double barrel shotgun like it’s a natural extension of his arm, and Tony so misjudged this kid. “Come on kid, let’s not make this worse.” He really doesn’t want to shoot him.

Stilinski laughs. Oh sure it’s tinged in hysteria but it still sets Tony teeth on edge. A normal twenty year old kid facing down an authority figure with a gun in a dark alley should be a little more concerned. Stilinski actually takes his eyes off Tony and looks back over his shoulder and mutters, “Oh, I so don’t have time for this.”

Tony opens his mouth to try to get a handle on the situation but before he can even decide what to say Stilinski is turning back in his direction, his eyes widening in shock. It’s all the warning Tony gets before he’s eating pavement. His right cheek is exploding in pain and he has a feeling he’d be screaming at the pain of someone wrenching his arm behind his back if he had the breath to do it. 

He’s seeing spots and the world tilts on itself as he’s dragged to his feet, a buzzing sound the resolves into Stilinski’s voice.

“-broken him! What the ever loving fuck!”

“He was pointing a gun. At. Your. Head.” Tony is pretty sure the guy that’s got his arm wrenched so far he can hear the bone creaking is growling but he’s too concerned with getting air in his lungs to worry about it.

Stilinski’s worried face takes up the majority of his field of vision and he would recoil back but there’s still a solid presence at his back doing its best to take his arm off. “Ease off, man, he doesn’t even have the gun anymore.”

He can’t help the relieved gasp of breath as the pressure eases up, though he’s not surprised he doesn’t get his arm back. He spots his gun ten or so feet to his left, he doesn’t even remember dropping it. He’s half thinking about making a move to get out of the guy’s grip, trying to get to the gun maybe, when a cut off yelp echoes down from the dark end that Stilinski came from.

They all freeze, straining to see through the darkness at the end of the alley. It’s the one holding Tony that breaks the silence.

“We are so screwed.” He breathes the words practically in Tony’s ear and he feels gooseflesh crawl up and down his arms.

Stilinski brings the gun up in a fluid movement, his stance steady. “McKenzie? Should we try to run?”

The guy makes this weird choked off whine sort of noise before replying, “Peter, it’s Peter.”

With the way the two were acting, Tony expected something other than the man that walked out of the shadows. He looks like any other moderately wealthy businessman, nice suit and expensive jacket. Tony probably wouldn’t look twice at him if he passed him on the street. The guy wasn’t even armed as far as Tony could see.  

That didn’t stop Stilinski from training the shotgun on him with no reservation.

“Stiles, is that any way to greet family?” The voice has the hair on the back of Tony’s neck rising, even if he can’t explain the unease. The man, Peter he’s assuming, stops fifteen or so feet away. He also barely glances at Tony before dismissing him.

Stilinski shrugs. “I once set you on fire, I think we can move past me pointing a gun at your face. You know, unless Derek kills you for real this time and I won’t have to worry about it at all.”

The smile slips from Peter’s face. “I just saved your life, again, I might add, you’d think you’d be a bit more grateful you are no longer being chased.”

Tony can see Stilinski grimace. “Yeah, considering I wouldn’t be here to be chased except that I had to trek cross country to help stop you from starting all-out war, I don’t think you get to count this one.”

“I didn’t start this.” There’s an ugly sneer on Peter’s face now.

“Really? You didn’t think killing Jacob McKenzie’s little sister would cause a freaking problem?”

Tony’s brain trips over itself trying to connect the dots, because Stilinski is apparently even more involved in this case than he thought.

“I did not kill Alexandra Johnson.”

The quiet declaration seems to derail whatever Stilinski is going to say next because he just stares. The silence is once again broken from behind Tony.

“Who’s Alexandra Johnson?”

“Lily McKenzie,” Peter says drily. “Her brother likes to pretend she didn’t get married. Or join the Navy. Or you know, have a life outside of him.”

“She doesn’t have a life anymore.”

Peter looks back to Stilinski, his face showing just the hint of desperation. “I didn’t take that from her.”

“Isaac, is he lying?”

It’s such an odd question, Tony almost misses that he now has a name for his captor. But before Isaac can answer, a figure drops from the sky and lands in a crouch between the three of them and Peter. Tony just blinks, because of course Camaro Guy, or Derek Hale if you go by the Camaro’s registration, would just drop out of the freaking sky to give this whole situation more weirdness.

Stilinski jerks the gun up with a muttered curse. “One of these days I’m going to shoot you when you do that.”

“He’s not lying.” Peter doesn’t exactly sigh in relief or anything but some of the desperation leaves his face at the words. “We need to get out of here.” Hale finally looks over his shoulder and glares at Tony.

Tony glares right back.

That’s when the bomb explodes.

Later, Tony will decide it had to have been dropped off the roof, exploding between Hale and Peter, more grenade than bomb, but at the moment all can process is his ringing ears and the thick dust coating his throat.

His hearing clears to the sound of shouting, but before he can even focus on the words he’s being dragged up off the ground and away, and as his brain is still trying to grasp where the danger was coming from and flooding his body with enough adrenaline to give his flight response wings, he goes willingly.

It’s not until he’s shoved into the back of a light colored SUV with all the back seats removed that he feels a sense of wrongness. But by that point it’s really too late, as he’s being shoved further into the SUV until he hits the back of the passenger seat and bodies are being shoved in after him. The doors close with a slam and he can feel the car moving under him.

The smell of blood hits him like a slap in the face, and it clears his head enough to take stock of what’s going on around him. Peter and Hale are curled in the center of the SUV, convulsing and covered in blood. Isaac is holding down Peter’s shoulders from where he’s crowded into the corner by the driver’s seat and there’s someone new crouched over Peter and Hale’s legs near the rear door. Stilinski is hovering over Hale with a knife and is quickly ripping the bloodied shirt away from his chest.

“Who the hell is this?”

Tony rips his gaze away from the macabre scene in front of him and turns towards the front of the car. The boy in the passenger seat is glaring at him suspiciously and Tony is about to answer when a scream has him jerking back around.   

His stomach rolls at the sight. Stilinski has his fingers up to the second knuckle dug into Hale’s side, a twisted look of concentration on his face. There’s a small light source by the kid’s knee, casting his face into deep shadows and turning the blood a slick black. The nightmare in front of him isn’t enough to deter his questioner, however, and he starts when the boy practically climbs over the seat to search him.

He bats at the hands pawing at him, but the boy leans back triumphant, his phone and his wallet in his hand. He can see the exact moment the boy figures out who he is, really it would be funny if he wasn’t pretty sure he was going to be shot and dropped in a ditch somewhere.

“What is it? Who is he?” Tony is rather impressed at the girl that is driving. Even with the amateur surgery going on behind her, she’s driving at a sedate pace, obviously trying not to draw any undue attention on them.  She flicks a look at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed.

“Trouble,” is all the boy says before wiping down the phone and throwing it out the window, along with Tony’s hope that his team would track him down using the GPS.

A whimper draws Tony’s attention back to the insanity that’s practically happening in his lap. He can feel the tacky wetness soaking through his pants that he doesn’t want to think too hard on. Stilinski is leaning over Hale now, arms streaked in blood and forcing a small bottle of something down the man’s throat.

“Swallow, damn you.”

Either Hale is still with it enough to listen or it’s reflex, but soon Stilinski is tossing the bottle and then crawling over the man to get to Peter, who has started to gag on a black substance that makes Tony think of rot.

“Is he hit anywhere or is it just?”

Isaac interrupts, “I don’t think so, I think he just got a face full of it, Derek was turned away so…”

Stilinski nods jerkily before pulling out another bottle and forcing Peter’s jaw open. “Thirty minutes ago I wasn’t even going to hesitate in putting a bullet between your eyes, now I’m risking my fingers to save your life. You live through this, you so owe me one.” Peter coughs and tries to gag up whatever Stilinski is pouring down his throat but Stilinski doesn’t even flinch at the black slime leaking past Peter’s lips to trail down his jaw and pool on the, admittedly already blood soaked, carpet.

“Are you alright?” The bottle is empty and Stilinski throws a look in Isaac’s direction before using a corner of his shirt to wipe off Peter’s face.

“It burns, but I’ll live.”

Stilinski nods and then turns to the one near the door. “Scott?”

Scott shakes his head. “I was far enough away.”

There is just enough light for Tony to see the relief cross Stilinski face before he bows his head and his shoulders sag like a string has been cut. Hale and Peter have stopped convulsing and Stilinski’s got a hand on Hale’s shoulder, still crouched between them.

Tony has a million questions just waiting to be asked, but he knows it’s better for him to try and sink into the background. He’s not bound, not armed either but beggars can’t be choosers, and he might have chance at escape whenever they get to wherever they’re going.  

He hopes. 

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

 

Stiles doesn’t feel the adrenaline start to abate until Allison drives passed the wrought iron gates that mark the property of the abandoned church they’ve commandeered as their home away from home. An abandoned church quite covered in what Stiles like to call S.E.P. wards, because he’s partially convinced you need an extra tongue to pronounce the real name and partially just because it makes Erica laugh.

When he, Lydia and Danny were first laying the wards down he bemoaned the fact that Derek was so anti hotels, it wasn’t like they didn’t have the money, but as they come to a stop and Scott throws the back door open and floods the interior with harsh lights, Stiles is quite glad they don’t have to worry about any prying eyes because it looks like a murder scene.

Jackson and Boyd fill the opening of the back door once Scott jumps out.

“Well, your night was apparently much more exciting than ours.” Jackson pauses with a significant look at the bloodied interior and then continues with, “I’m so not getting this interior redone, again. I say we just set it on fire and get a new one.”

Isaac leans on Jackson as he stumbles out of the back, trying not to trample Peter. “We found Peter. So exciting _and_ productive.”

“And you brought a guest.”

Stiles looks up from where he’s trying to drag two hundred pounds of unconscious, but thankfully no longer bleeding, werewolf towards the door, to see Boyd staring towards the front of the vehicle.

And how the hell he’d forgotten about the cop they _kidnapped_ , he’ll never know. He’s going to blame it on the nightmare inducing shrapnel excavation that involved him sticking practically his whole hand inside Derek’s side.

He really looks at the cop. The man’s face is starting to turn an impressive purple where Isaac bounced it off the concrete and he’s holding his right arm protectively against his chest. But there is a defiant spark trying to cover the fear in his eyes and Stiles has got to give him credit for that.

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience. I’ll just find my own way home.” And he sort of inches towards the side door, but flinches when Danny swings it open and blocks his intended escape.

“Hey, Boyd, come give me a hand, will ya?”

And Stile feels a sharp curl of guilt wind through his insides at the sudden apprehension on the cop’s face. It’s not his fault, he was just doing his job, a job that puts his life on the line to protect people. So when Boyd passes by him, he grabs his arm.

“He _is_ a guest.” And there’s enough seriousness in his voice that Boyd’s eyebrows raise. “I’m serious, feed him, get him comfortable, search him if it makes you feel better and of course watch him, but he’s _not_ an enemy.”

“Alright.”

Stiles lets go of Boyd’s arm and then gets caught up in the chaos that is seven people trying to get two unconscious and bloody werewolves out of the back of the SUV and into the church.

The story of the church is a rather sad one. Young and small, they’d been having regular service in it for only eight months before it was found out that the man in charge of the finances had been dipping his hands into the collection plates and neglecting to pay any of the bills. By the time he was found out, the little church was so far in debt foreclosure on the building was unavoidable.

Everything that could be sold off, was, except for the really old, really ugly couch they found in the small apartment tucked behind the offices. The had dragged the couch into the empty sanctuary, it was incredibly comfortable no matter what it looked like, and set up a few blowup mattresses and a folding table and chairs and declared it home sweet away from home. Sad for the church, but rather convenient for the pack.

Danny had gotten the water and electricity turned back on in a way that Stiles wasn’t going to look too deeply into, and the wards kept them from being noticed.

Stiles strips out of his bloodied shirt, declaring it a loss, before turning to where Scott and Isaac hold a slightly more awake Derek upright. They have procedures for situations like this. If they had been home they’d all be in the mud room with the shower heads and the drains to wash away all the blood, but he just catches the pack of baby wipes Allison throws his way and tries not to think about the blood already drying under his fingernails.

There is a shower in the apartment where they found the couch, but it’s so small one person barely fits in it, and while Derek’s eyes are blinking lazily at him, he’s in no condition to stand on his own yet.

Derek’s shirt is in tatters where Stiles already cut it so it doesn’t take much to get it off of him. The blood makes it look worse than it is and as Stiles runs the baby wipes over Derek’s skin he’s glad to see the skin’s already knitted back together. Within the hour there probably won’t even be a scar left.

He’s got a sizable pile of bloody wipes on the ground beside them when he drops down to get Derek’s boots off.  Allison drops a shirt and pair of sweatpants at his side before continuing on to where Jackson, Erica and Lydia are getting Peter out of his bloody clothes.

Getting Derek’s jeans off isn’t even an awkward endeavor anymore. The blood really makes the whole nudity thing a none issue and Stiles has done this particular dance with every member of the pack at least once. That’s not even counting the time Stiles has been stripped down himself to get to an injury.

Stiles gets the rest of the blood off and dresses Derek in the sweatpants. The shirt’s a little more difficult but Scott and Isaac have done this a time or two and soon enough Derek no longer looks like a murder victim. As they’re supporting him over to one of the mattresses, Allison appears at his side with a black trash bag.

She bends down to shove the bloodied clothes and wipes into the bag. “Pants.”

Stiles blinks at her. “Huh?”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “Your pants. Unless you’re going to start a new trend, serial killer chic or something.”

Stiles grins as he unbuttons the blood splattered jeans. “Think it would catch on?”

Allison just laughs at him and holds a hand out for him to drop the jeans in. It’s a little cold in the church in just his socks and boxers, and he really needs a shower.

Stiles heads first to where they’ve laid out Peter. He crouches next to the mattress and puts his ear to Peter’s chest, listening to the in and out of his breathing. It sounds clear, and then it hitches and Stiles tilts his head to see Peter staring back at him. They freeze for a second and then Peter dips his head in a sort of thanks that Stiles knows he’ll never hear verbally. Stiles just pats his chest as he rises in response.

“Get some sleep.”

There’s another moment where Stiles is sure Peter is going to say something, but he just closes his eyes and so Stiles makes his way to where Derek’s laid out with Isaac pressed up against his side.

He bounces a little when his knees hit the mattress and Isaac whines before hiding his face further in the undamaged part of Derek’s side, his right arm thrown across Derek’s stomach.  He peels Isaac’s arm away so he can get at where the gaping hole of a wound was less than an hour ago. It’s just a patch of slightly reddened skin now.

Derek catches his wrist as he goes to prod at it again. “No poking.”

Stiles can’t help but grin. “Hey, I pulled a giant piece of metal out of your side, I get poking privileges. And wow, that sounded a lot less innuendo filled in my head. Must be the trauma of bathing in your blood has finally broken my brain. But seriously, how fast does your body replenish your blood supply because it must have hit an artery or something going in, and I’m amazed you’ve still got enough for your heart to pump. Happy, don’t get me wrong, but still amazed.”

There’s a twitch at the corner of Derek’s mouth and Stiles’ is counting that as a smile. “Thanks.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s not like I was going to let you die or anything. I mean, I even kept Peter alive.” The hand around Stiles wrist tightens for a beat. “This whole thing has gotten a hell of a lot more complicated, hasn’t it?”

Derek makes a low noise in his throat, before looking past Stiles. “Speaking of complications, you may want to save your stray from Boyd…or Boyd from your stray, I’m not sure.”

Stiles looks over his shoulder to see Boyd trying to hand off a sandwich to the cop who is seated on the couch and pressed into the corner like he is trying to go unnoticed.  

“Isaac brought him home, he’s Isaac’s stray.”

“Dude, I killed my _goldfish_.” Isaac doesn’t even pick his head up to make this declaration.

Stiles and Derek shoot identical disbelieving looks at the top of his head. Stiles recovers first, wiping a hand over his face and shaking his head. “Ugh, I need a shower.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything…”

“Shut up, it’s your blood.”

Derek huffs a laugh before yanking on the wrist he still has in his grip. Stile bends down willingly, his free hand coming up to settle on Isaac’s head. They hold there for a minute, Stiles forehead resting against Derek’s shoulder, Isaac’s hand sneaking back across Derek’s stomach to rest an open palm against Stiles’ side. He breathes out and feels the last of the tension, the last of the gut wrenching fear that he was going to watch one of his die, fade from his muscles.

It’s enough to energize him into moving. He leans back on the balls of his feet, Derek’s fingers slipping away from his wrist. “Alright. I’ll go talk to the cop, even though I have no clue what I’m going to say. ‘Don’t worry we’re probably not going to kill you.’?” He shakes his head. “Then shower then food, Or food then shower. Or maybe shower _and_ food.”

“Can I make a suggestion before you talk to the cop?” Isaac is peering up at him through one half opened eye.

“What?”

“Put some pants on.”

 

XXX

 

He has seen enough crime scenes that they’ve lost most of their shock value. Except, it turns out, when they’re personal. The spill of blood, the abandoned gun, the scorch marks in the concrete. They all seem to add up to more than the sum of their parts and Gibbs is having a hard time looking for the pieces because he’s afraid what the picture is going to be once he’s finished.

“They would not have taken a dead body.” Ziva’s voice is controlled, calculated in a way that tells Gibbs she doesn’t trust herself right now, with two dead bodies being loaded into the coroners’ van and one of their own missing.

Gibbs knows the feeling. “We are going to find him.” And he doesn’t say it like a promise, but as a fact, as sure as he knows the sun will rise in the east tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me awhile to write this because I got hung up on a rather ridiculous point and...yeah. Thank you to everyone that has commented and kudos'd...ya'll make me all warm and fuzzy inside.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter 4

Tony is no longer terrified that they are going to put a bullet in his skull anytime soon, even if Stilinski’s reassurances that they weren’t going to hurt him were slightly marred by the fact that he was mostly naked with dried blood still under his fingernails and a mouthful of sandwich. Which is a bit alarming, but mostly he’s just confused.

Well, confused and exhausted and _aching_ now that the adrenaline has left his body. He can actually feel his cheek pulsing in tune with his heartbeat and he can’t lift his right arm at the shoulder more than a few inches. He had discovered that as they strip searched him. At least they let him keep his boxers and undershirt. He is sitting on the ugliest couch he had ever had the misfortune to set eyes on, though it’s surprisingly comfortable, wrapped in a bright pink, puffy blanket. He’d feel underdressed, but they don’t really seem to be concerned about modesty around here.

And the here…the here is an abandoned church dressed up like a clubhouse, with sleeping bags and blow up mattresses and a mini fridge. He’s been trying to put names to all the faces and he’s got most of them, even if he’s still not sure how they’re all connected. Hale’s clearly the leader, and while Isaac, the brat responsible for Tony’s current pain, started off curled up next to him, an hour later he was replaced by a blonde Tony still hasn’t gotten a name for and then Scott, who Tony had been sure had a thing with the cool headed driver, collapsed down on the other side of Hale. It could just be a case of limited sleeping spaces but there was an empty mattress Scott could have taken across the room.

Tony’s still not restrained, though if he so much as twitches someone glares at him until he stops.  He doesn’t really have any grand escape plans in mind, but considering his resources he feels like he can’t be found at fault for that though.  All in all it’s not the worst situation he’s ever found himself in.

With that disturbing thought, he closes his eyes and tries to get some sleep. Rule 20, Sleep when you get the chance, because your next chance might be 36 hours later.

He doesn’t know how long he’s slept before shrill ringing jerks him awake. Blinking through the tears of pain, good lord does his shoulder hurt, he notices that someone turned half the lights out, casting the room in long shadows as people untangle themselves from blankets.

The ringing stops and an annoyed voice answers, “What?”

Tony’s eyes’ have adjusted enough to make out Peter with the phone to his ear, he’s looking remarkably healthy if sleep mussed, and Hale, who also looks remarkably healthy, picking his way through the mattresses and people between them.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me…My fault? How…” Tony doesn’t know if it’s agitation or Hale’s looming form that’s got Peter scrambling to his feet, but boy the look on his face could curdle milk.

“Jacob McKenzie was supposed to be dead Two. Weeks. Ago. Instead I walk into my hotel room and find Alex laid out like a present in my bed with her heart cut out. Emily. Nathan. Eddie. All dead. And you want to pin this on me?” Tony matches names to autopsy pictures and tries to get an eye on everybody to see if they are all distracted enough an escape attempt is even laughably possible. He’s located everyone except Isaac…

“Derek might actually kill him this time, like permanently.”

…who has snuck up behind him and is now leaning against the back of the couch.

“Someone should put a bell on you,” Tony manages after blinking back more tears of pain.

“It’s been suggested.” Scott, still scrubbing sleep out of his eyes, pushes Tony’s feet off one side of the couch and collapses on it.

Isaac opens his mouth to reply but laughter echoes around the room and cuts him off. Tony feels chills run down his neck because that’s maniac laugh number three, and Peter sounds like he’s practiced.

“You think I still want any part of this? Killing Jacob isn’t going to be enough. With Alex gone, Kyle is all set to step right into Daddy’s shoes and with fifteen…oh I’m sorry fourteen, I killed one of them last night, newly turned little minions I’m not thinking this is going to end any way that you’d like it to. It’s going to be messy, and while I generally don’t mind messy, you no longer have anything that I want.”

Peter had been mostly ignoring Hale up until this point, but whatever, whoever on the other end of that phone line says has him looking up at Hale and taking a reflexive step back. “No, I’m pretty sure that bridge has been thoroughly burned, more than once actually. My end game is still the same, I’m just no longer looking in this market.”

Peter’s face hardens. “You can try, I suppose. Just remember, that while I am my sister’s brother, I don’t have nearly the kind nature she did. Nor, as I said, do I mind messy.” Tony doesn’t like the smile that spreads across Peter’s face. “Glad we could see eye to eye on this, now if you don’t mind I have an irate nephew that I…” Peter pauses before looking around Hale and locks eyes with Tony. “The Fed? Yes, we have him…Alive? Yup…. No.” There’s a pause and then Peter jerks his gaze back to Hale.

“That was a poor choice of words.” Peter’s face does this thing like he can’t believe there are actually people this stupid. “Because my nephew has a noble streak…I don’t think he really cares about your standard procedures…or your threats.” Peter rolls his eyes so hard Tony’s surprised they don’t fall out of his head. “I’m hanging up now.”

Peter barely lowers the phone from his ear before Hale opens his mouth, and by judging by the look on his face it’s going to be one hell of a rant. But Peter stalls him with a, “Do we really want to have this discussion in front of our guest?”

Tony’s actually getting sympathy pains from how hard Hale is grinding his teeth. “What I really want is to beat you to death with your own arm.”

“That could be fun to watch.”

“Lydia, I thought we’d gotten past all that. It’s been years…” Between Stilinski threatening to shoot him and this girl happy enough to watch him die, Tony's thinking Peter's not the favorite. 

“My laptop. Last week.” If looks could kill Peter would be a smear on the floor right about now. To his credit, he looks like he is trying for innocent. It doesn’t look like anyone is buying it.

“What he’d do to her laptop?” Isaac stage whispers between Scott and Tony’s heads.

But Hale is apparently done. “Enough! Scott, Allison, Stiles and Danny with me and Peter. Jackson, Lydia, Boyd and Erica make sure we’re still invisible. Isaac, babysit our guest.”  They all move without question.

Tony swallows as Hale levels his glare at him, but doesn’t look away. If he’s reading this right, Hale’s actually on the not-killing Tony side of things and feels like he needs to prove he’s worth the hassle.

That lasts until a deck of cards is shoved in his face, making him go cross eyed.

“Wanna play Go Fish?”  

Weirdest. Kidnapping. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! But seriously, 2013 was kinda a sucky year all around and the end of it was just all kinds of horrible so I apologize for not updating but trust me, if I had it would have probably all ended in death and tears...in the story or IRL is anyone's guess. 
> 
> It's short...but I wanted to get something up since it has been so long
> 
> Oh and I so made up rule 20...sounds like a Gibbs rule and it's rule number we haven't heard yet.


	5. chapter 5

“What do you have for me?”

Ducky wants to say, ‘a looming migraine due to sleep deprivation’ but he holds his tongue. Since Tony’s disappearance they’ve all been a little short and he can read Gibbs’ agitation all the way across the autopsy room. What he does say is, “Not much from this one, I’m afraid. It’s very much a case of same song, different verse.” He gestures towards the John Doe they have laid out on the table. “As I theorized at the scene, he was killed elsewhere, exsanguinated, his thoracic cavity cracked open,” he points out the missing pieces, “and his heart, liver, kidneys and stomach removed. Not likely by someone who holds a scalpel for a living. Like the others, I found next to no physical evidence, what little I did I already sent up to Abigail.”

He turns to the other body laid out, a sheet modestly covering her lower body. “Our Jane Doe on the other hand is talking quite a bit louder. Or she would be, if a good portion of her larynx hadn’t been damaged.” With a gloved finger he tilts her jaw to better expose her neck. “You can see where the screwdriver entered, slicing through both the internal jugular veins as well as puncturing the trachea before coming out the other side.” He tilts her jaw back to its original position. “She likely died within minutes. Would have died even faster if she had managed to pull the screwdriver back out completely.” 

“Any other injuries?”

Ducky snaps the gloves off before answering. “No. And she was perfectly healthy for a fourteen to seventeen year old.”

“She was taken by surprise.”

Ducky presses his lips together before nodding. “Very probably. If the attacker was right handed, the attack most likely came from behind and if the attacker was left handed, she was most likely facing her attacker.” 

“The screwdriver?”

“Already sent to Abigail.” The words are hardly out of Ducky’s mouth before Gibbs is leaving.

XXX

“Tell me you have something for me, Abbs.” 

Tim looks up from his laptop to see Gibbs make a beeline for Abby.

“Do you want the good, the bad, or the crazy first?”

“Abby.” 

“Dealer’s choice it is then.” She turns back to her main screen and brings up a picture of a screwdriver in an evidence bag and two matched fingerprints. “The good news, there was a viable print on our murder weapon, and I matched it to the prints we lifted from the hotel room where we found Petty Officer Johnson.” She pulled up another window, this one showing a D.C. Driver’s License of a middle aged man named Peter Michaels. “So cases, definitely linked. But when McGee dug deeper into Peter Michaels, well…” 

“He doesn’t exist.” Gibbs blinks at him so he elaborates, “Well, I mean he exists, but his identity doesn’t.” 

“It’s a really good fake,” Abby insists. “Like us level good.”

“So who is he?”

“I’ll get to that…” She holds up a hand to forestall the argument. “No, really, this is confusing enough if I don’t go in order. McGee?”

Tim pulls the surveillance footage up, so that a grainy shot of the back end of an SUV fills the screen, before getting up and joining them. “We pulled every surveillance tape we could get around the warehouse. Two minutes and thirty five seconds after the explosion, this vehicle is spotted leaving the area. We are pretty sure Tony’s in that SUV.”

“Notice anything interesting?” Abby asks.

“California license plates,” Gibbs muses.

“Yup, and guess who it’s registered to?” Abby doesn’t wait for an answer and instead pulls up another driver’s license photo. “And since I know how you feel about coincidences, we started digging into Derek Hale’s past and I’m no longer thinking that Stilinski kid is as innocent as he wanted us all to think.”

“His past is hinky?”

“HInky does not even begin to cover it.” She’s getting into a rhythm now, files appearing on the screen as she gestures wildly. “In 2005 a house fire takes out nearly his entire family. His older sister, Laura and he were out of the house at the time. His uncle suffered extensive burns, but was the only one pulled from the fire alive. The pair stayed in town just long enough to bury their family, place their uncle in a long term care home, and cash the insurance check.”

“You think they set the fire for the insurance?”

“Not likely. The land the house was on was worth more and they left it to be reclaimed by the county. I think they were running.”

“From who?”

“I’ll get to that.” At his glare she just shakes her head, “Trust me, it’s easier if I go in order. For two years they are completely off the map, not a blip to be found and we looked, didn’t we McGee?” She waits for Tim to nod before continuing, “And then Derek Hale enrolls in a community college in upstate New York. Weirdly enough, he uses a fake driver’s license, even though all the information is his.” Abby glares at the screen for a bit and Tim can’t blame her, that was a piece of the puzzle that just did not make sense. “I mean, most people, get a fake I.D. because they want to change something, their name, their age…but nope. I was thinking maybe he just couldn’t pass the driving test, but well…” She just shrugs and continues, “He graduates with an associate business degree in two years and then promptly disappears off the map again. Laura Hale doesn’t show up until 2010, where she buys the black Camaro Hale was driving. She paid cash, and used a fake I.D. She however did not use her real name. I found it by following the Camaro’s registration.”

She takes a deep breath before bringing up the next file. “January 9, 2011, half of Laura Hale’s body is found in the forest near where her childhood home is in ruins.”

“Half?”

Abby nods, “Half. The bottom half.” She pulls up a police report. “They didn’t get an ID on her until a tip that Derek Hale had buried the other half of his sister behind the old house panned out.”

“He killed his sister?”

Abby shakes her head before continuing, “No, corner report lists death by animal attack. The report says that Hale found half of his sister’s corpse and in a fit of distress, buried her in the backyard of their old home. The details of what exactly the two of them were doing there in the first place, vague at best. But at the ToD, Hale was two states over, getting gas, so he was off the hook. They could have charged him with obstruction and desecration of a corpse, but none were brought up and they let him go.”

She takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes before continuing, “And then they promptly started looking for him again when two minors accused him of murder. The police reports that follow are just…” She makes a frustrated noise before flinging a hand out at the screen. “And I haven’t even gotten to the best part…the Sherriff? John Stilinski. Eventually the reports filed got so ridiculous that an investigation was launched, but I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“February 9th, Peter Hale goes missing.”

“The uncle that survived the fire?”

“The catatonic, heavily scarred, uncle that survived the fire,” Tim clarifies. 

“Just poof, gone. A nurse also goes missing at the same time. The nurse’s body was found two weeks later in the trunk of her abandoned car, but Peter Hale was never found and is presumed dead. About the same time, the Sherriff reopens the Hale Fire case and very long and confusing story short, comes to the conclusion that Kate Argent was responsible for the fire. Of course, he comes to this conclusion after he finds her dead in the Hale house, but…” She makes another frustrated noise in the back of her throat. 

“Cause of death?”

“Animal attack.” Abby answers flatly.

Tim takes over, “We think Hale knew Argent set the fire, and that was who he was running from. A few months later he buys back the land his old house is on with the settlement money he got from the long term care home, knocks the old house down and builds a new one.” He pulls up a picture and they all stare at the group shot posed on the front steps of a large porch. “And makes some friends.”

“Odd friends,” Abby adds. “This was taken last year, the man on the far left? Chris Argent. Brother to Kate Argent. And look who else is here,” She highlights a face and brings it forward.

“Peter Michaels.”

“No, Peter Hale.”

“We think.” Tim adds quickly. “We pulled pictures of him before the fire and matched them to this and the ID photo and well…” He trails off because the whole thing doesn’t make sense. The man had been catatonic for nearly six years, presumed dead, and now he’s leaning up against a porch railing without a scar to be seen?

“Is it possible?” Gibbs asks. 

He and Abby share a look before she shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know how but…” She gestures at the photos.

Gibbs’ phone ringing breaks the silence, and after glancing at the screen he answers it. “Gibbs.”

Tim watches as confusion then anger sweeps across his boss’ face.

“What? You can’t be serious…I’m on my way.” Tim is pretty sure the phone’s case cracks with how hard Gibbs snaps it shut. “Don’t let anybody into the lab until I get back…and make backups of everything!”

He’s already gone by the time Tim finds his voice. “How are we supposed to keep people out of the lab? And who should we be worried about stopping by?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! but seriously, life has been a series of crazy lately and this is really only half of what I planned for chapter five, but, what can you do? Work that actually keeps food in my fridge takes precedent and contrary to what my brain thinks, my body actually does require more than four hours of sleep at a time. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reviewed/kudos'd!
> 
> Also, my formatting might be wonky, AO3 ate it, so if you notice anything just let me know :)


	6. chapter 6

Chapter 6  
Ziva slams the phone down on her desk and runs her hands over her face to quell the urge to just chuck the phone across the bullpen. Her best lead, really her only source that was willing to even admit that he had any information at all, just told her to keep her head down and stay out of it. That Tony was likely dead already or worse. 

All this from a guy who once sent her into the middle of cartel turf war without warning. 

She’s just about psyched herself up to make another call when Gibbs comes storming in. He doesn’t even break stride as he barks his order at her.

“David, MTAC. Now.”

Ziva is up before she even registers the order. She makes up the distance between them on the stairs and watches with a sinking stomach as Gibbs glares at the retinal scan. Whatever this is, it’s not good. 

The first thing she notices as she crosses the threshold is SecNav up on the screen. Gibbs doesn’t even wait to be announced, stalking right up to the screen and snarling, “You aren’t taking this case away from me.”

She stays near the entrance, happy enough to just be an observer in this little war. She’s not real concerned about jurisdiction. She’s going to find Tony and bring him home, sanctioned or not. She takes in the rest of the party standing in front of the screen and blinks in surprise. 

She knows the man standing beside the Director. Cleaned up nice in a tailored suit and freshly shaven she almost didn’t recognize him from the man she last saw six years ago. 

She’s pulled from her memories just as SecNav loses his patience. “Enough. This isn’t up for debate, this isn’t even my decision. You will hand over this investigation to Agent Carter willingly, or you will hand it over with your badge. “ He cuts across his throat and the connection dies. 

Gibbs turns to Vance, rage rolling off him in waves, but Ziva ignores them and locks eyes with the other man in the room. There is something in his eyes, in his face, that she remembers from a night of fire and smoke and blood. Something that says, you saved my life once, trust me.

“Agent Gibbs.” Her voice is steely enough to cut across their argument and both men look up at her. She waits until she’s holding Gibbs gaze before she continues, “We should escort Agent Carter to the labs to pick up the evidence.”

There is a few beats of silence where Gibbs just stares at her and she wonders if he’ll trust her, but then he just nods and stalks back up the stairs. Ziva’s eyes catch the director’s and he opens his mouth but then must decide that he’d rather have plausible deniability because he just shuts it and looks away.

She catches up with Gibbs and Carter as they are getting into the elevator. The doors barely close before Carter is slamming the brakes. Both men open their mouths to speak, but Ziva beats them to it.

“Marcus, I thought you were dead.” She can admit to herself that there is a little bit of hurt in the accusation, but mostly it’s confusion.

“I was.” Carter blinks and then corrects himself, “I am. Well, officially speaking. But circumstances changed.” 

“Who are you?” Gibbs asks the same time Ziva asks, “Officially speaking?”

“I’m the man who is going to get your agent back, but we don’t have much time. The real agent assigned to this case is going to show up soon and we need to be gone long before he does.” 

“You know where Tony is?” 

Carter nods at Gibbs but focuses on her. “You saved my life once, so I owe you.” There is something in his gaze that feels important and she can't tear her eyes away. “I'm willing to transfer the debt I owe to Anthony DiNozzo, if that is what you wish.”

She feels a building of pressure, like the breath before a lighting strike, and the hairs on the back of her neck stands on end, but there is really only one answer. 

“Yes.”  
XXX

Stiles comes to the conclusion that Peter is telling mostly the truth. Frankly, he's not sure if Peter could even tell the whole truth if he wanted to so mostly the truth is better than what he was expecting.

“There is one thing I don't understand...” Danny starts, but is interrupted by Allison’s scoff.

“One thing?”

Danny rolls his eyes but amends, “The first thing I don't understand is, who the hell is killing off the McKenzie Pack? Because I actually believe Peter's not doing it, and if Jacob is doing it he's a hell of a better actor than I give him credit for.”

“Jacob's not killing his pack.” Peter's tone leaves no room for argument. “He'd be more likely to lock up any wayward betas in his basement or something.”

“It doesn't matter.” Derek had been quiet all through Peter's explanation and now everyone focuses on him. “If the council is involved, we should leave. Let them clean up this mess.”

“Derek's right.” Scott makes a face, “Yeah, I know, I said it. But somebody tried really hard to kill him and Peter last night and we've got five dead bodies proving that somebody is willing to send several messages.” 

“We should take separate routes back home.” Derek muses and Scott nods and Stiles realizes that they've stepped into 'protect the pack' mode and any arguments for staying aren't even going to be entertained. He shares a look with Danny and realizes he's come to the same conclusion.

Not that he's really complaining. He's done research on the mysterious council in the past and while Deucalion managed to push them to the brink of extinction, they'd been steadily gaining back strength. He listens to Derek, Scott and Allison talk highways versus back roads and wonders if running is going to be enough.

“I'm not going back with you.” Peter's voice cuts through whatever plan Derek was trying to explain.

“What do you mean?” Derek is shaking his head and Stiles feels something warm curl in his chest. Derek was certain Peter was slaughtering people, was certain that this trip was going to end with him taking Peter out.

Again.

But now that Peter isn't a homicidal maniac Derek can't even imagine him not coming home with them. Stiles is pretty sure Derek completely missed the whole reason Peter was on the east coast to begin with.

Peter's smile is brittle and sharp. “Derek, you're the last of my blood and I love you, but there is a not insignificant part of me that wants to rip your throat out.” There is a tensing of bodies and Peter's smile widens. “I'd regret it afterward...probably.” he takes a deep breath, “Which is why I was trying to put a few thousand miles between us so that when I got the itch, “ Peter shrugs, “well I'd change my mind before I got off the plane.” 

“Where are you going?”

Peter shrugs, “Not sure yet. But I figured I'd take the SUV and torch it a few states over, you're not going to want to drive that back.”

Derek nods and Stiles can tell he doesn't like it but soon he and Scott are talking changes to the plan and Danny and Allison leave to let the rest of the pack know it's time to pack up.

“We're forgetting something.” Stiles words cut through Scott's explanation of why they should drive south to New Orleans on their way. “We're forgetting about the _cop we kidnapped_.”

XXX  
“Do you have any threes?”

Tony's head is pounding and the ache in his shoulder is spreading like vines, slowing wrapping down his arm and back. “No, I don't have any threes.” He glares, “Go. Fish.”

Issac rolls his eyes, “Grumpy, grumpy.” 

Tony closes his eyes and presses a knuckle against his forehead, sure his brain is going to explode soon and put him out of his misery. 

“I am sorry.” 

The quiet admission has Tony cracking his eyes open. Issac is staring at the cards in his hand, shuffling them back and forth. When he finally looks up Tony get the feeling that he's actually being sincere. 

Tony sighs and tries to find a position that isn't complete misery. “What's your story kid? Hm? How'd you get caught up in all of this?” He makes a gesture that encompasses the whole clubhouse in an abandoned church thing.

Issac shrugs. “It's hard to explain. I'm not even sure if I can explain.” He makes a face at Tony when he winces again. “You sure you don't want something for your shoulder? I know we've got some of the good stuff somewhere...”

“No, I'm fine.” Tony's voice is tight. He actually wouldn't mind slipping into the numb embrace of some choice pharmaceuticals but he needs his brain as sharp as he can keep it. He doesn't think they're going to kill him but he can't let his guard down even a little.

Issac chews on his lip for a moment before standing up. “Look, I know how to do this thing, it's like acupressure...”

Tony is shaking his head even as Issac rounds him to stand behind him. “No that's really not...”

But Issac has already slipped a warm hand through the collar of his undershirt and Tony's words get cut off by a hiss as the pressure is registered on his overly sensitive and swollen skin. 

There's a beat and then the vines of pain that were slowly tightening suddenly let go. Tony feels his head fall back as whatever Issac is doing chases the pain from first his shoulder, and then his head. “Holy fuck.”

There is chuckling behind him and Tony tries to bring himself back to where he is. Tries to remember that the brat is the same one that put him in this pain in the first place.

Before he can completely get his feet back on the ground, doors open and the noise of several people talking floods the sanctuary. He feels the loss as Issac removes his hand and he tries to focus on what's going on.

It looks like they're packing. He's trying to figure out if that's a good thing or not when Stilinski appears in front of him with what looks like a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt bundled in his arms.

“We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap it's been awhile...sorry about that guys. We're at the home stretch though, there should just be 2 chapters left...3 tops. I want to thank everyone who has commented or kudos'd and read this story, always gives me a fuzzy warm feeling :)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, y'all. Teen Wolf has eaten my brain the last few weeks and this idea dug it's claws in and wouldn't let go. I'm hoping this will be pretty short (I already know the ending and like, 90% of the plot, this never happens) and I can just exorcise this from my brain. 
> 
> And, as usual, no deadlines for updates. Also this is un-beta'd and I know I have a serious issue with tenses, so if you notice something incredibly jarring, don't be shy letting me know :P


End file.
